Cold is My Bed, Lord Archibald

Cauld is my Bed, Lord Archibald,
And sad my sleep of Sorrow;
But thine sall be as sad and cauld,
My fause true love! tomorrow.

And weep ye not, my Maidens free,
Though Death your Mistress borrow;
For he, for whom I die today,
Shall die for me tomorrow.

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Copyright © 2001, Jack Campin